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“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.” -Oscar Wilde
‘I asked where he was going and he said, “Hell. Del Norte. Nowhere. I don’t know.” ’
Del Norte was where James Farrow currently rested near the ocean's edge. If it could be called ‘resting’ he seemed to be a breathing statue. But where has he been in the four years since that visit?
Oliver imagined it to be somewhere between hell and nowhere. A punishment not unlike his own incarceration where James would remain here on earth breathing but not living. If James Farrow was dead to everyone who knew or knew of him could he truly be considered alive?
Maybe it was Oliver's eyes on him bringing him back from simple existence to life. James was alive, statuesque but alive.
Oliver could walk up to him, talk to him, touch him. He was alive and Oliver could breathe again.
He kept watching him. He would eventually walk up to James but for now he would revel in watching him once again as it had been so long.
He thought of how for years everyone's eyes had been on James; he was magnificent on and off stage and Oliver was never jealous. He understood their desire and the way James called for their attention. But he was the only one watching who really knew James. He both watched and he was watched in return. A privilege no audience member would ever be granted.
Now there were only his eyes on the would be tragic hero. He wondered if someone else were to pass by would their eyes glance past James never knowing of the star he was or would they somehow without reason feel a pull to look would something draw their eyes to him much like Oliver's were when he was in James’s atmosphere? A part of him believed they would.
He would walk over, he would break this peace of simply knowing James was alive by moving on to their next scene.
Oliver finally moved from the perfect viewing point he had located in the wings to enter the stage but he realized he didn’t know his lines. He wasn’t panicking like he would have if he had forgotten his lines on stage ten years ago. He might not be old or wise but he was older and he was tired and he really did just want to be on stage with James.
James did not hear him approach and it made him think of the leopard James had been assigned to play once. Still Oliver was never as agile as James was and once he was beside James again he looked up.
There was simply nothing in James’ eyes for a moment. Before the recognition. Then the shock and the sadness and something Oliver, now older and maybe slightly wiser could finally name.
“Oliver.” His voice broke on the name. His own voice with his own emotion not Romeos, not Edmunds, not Brutus’, James’. He was alive, he was broken, he was so beautiful.
Oliver sat down next to him needing a moment to find his response still not knowing his damn line.
But he did not need a line because he wasn’t in a play and it should not have taken so many years to notice this. Maybe they would have been okay if he had known this earlier. Maybe they could still be okay. If he was going to be so hopeful he may even say they could even be something as rare as happy.
“James.” It was not an inspired response and Shakespeare might have had something much much better written for two reunited lovers but Shakespeare was dead and he and James were alive and real.
“I missed you,” Oliver added before he forgot to mention such important information. But James had had to have known this would have to have felt Oliver's longing even while apart.
James looked much like Oliver though he would have trying to find the line he had forgotten before realizing they had no lines. “You..,” He stopped searching for his own words, “You got my message.”
“To give my tongue that heat to ask your help;
Which if you shall refuse, when I am dead,
For that I am a man, pray see me buried.”
He quoted Pericles’ plea for help. Not a goodbye a plea.
He looked over to James who was looking right back and he knew he would never stop looking if James would let him, if he would accept his help and live.
“I thought you were dead. James I never knew tragedy like that. Those plays that got me through so much were nothing and you were everything. You are everything.”
James’ eyes were an ocean of unshed tears. Oliver had hated anything to do with water, the seas, the rivers, the lakes for years but God, his deep hatreds were such fickle things when James made them seem so beautiful.
“I can’t feel that again.” Oliver knew his pleas of ‘live for me’ may be a selfish take on James’s crushing guilt but he couldn't care about that now. No poet or playwright could replicate the heartbreak he felt at the idea of a world without James. “Please James.”
“Anything.” He swore an oath and it again might have been a trite response in a play but it was what Oliver needed to hear and he knew James meant it because he knew that James loved him. No I wonder, no maybe, he was older now and he knew.
Oliver turned to face who was once every tragic hero but now a man. He reached his hand up to his face the memory of how natural it was to have James asleep next to him leading him forwards when James collapsed against him head on his chest and arms gripping his waist like he was scared he would get led off in handcuffs for another ten year sentence if he let go.
“You should hate me. I ruined your life and you are somehow the one person who doesn’t hate me.” He gasped out the words and a part of Oliver was worried that that might have been the most James had spoken in years.
“James,” He continued to grasp onto Oliver and squeeze his eyes shut so Oliver had needed to grab his face to garner his full attention. “My choices were all my own okay? You didn’t ruin my life. You’re here and I don’t fucking know what I’d do if you weren't,” ‘Nothing good’ he did not add, “Everyone doesn't hate you. I could never hate you.”
The unshed tears in James’ eyes had fallen at some point and Oliver wondered if he too was crying.
“I told you it would be okay,” He needed to remind James of his years old promise he could try and keep. “We can be okay.”
“Can we?” James questioned letting go to sit back up but leaving what felt like no space between them.
“We can try can’t we?” James continued to just look at him, “I love you I can’t not try. Please. I'm not leaving again.” Oliver begged again with no shame if it meant that James might just stay with him. Or at least just stay although Oliver prayed he would choose to be with him.
“Okay, Worthy prince, I know’t..” He replied echoing Oliver's line back to him before reaching for his face. “We can try.” His smile was edged with sadness but it was still James’ smile and James was here promising to try and live again. Oliver would never let him regret that.
It was different to the first kiss; there was no audience gasping, a fake sky or spotlight and James was leaning in first to capture his lips in a kiss that was also a confession.
“I love you too.” He whispered against his lips after breaking the kiss, a separation they could no longer postpone even if it only lasted a torturous few moments.
Their kiss would break once again but they never for too long.
They would confess their love many more times.
They would live.